


Legacy

by falchionpunch



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Dark Knight Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Other, or the platonic intimacy of sharing a body, the inherent eroticism of sharing a body, your choice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:07:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27562777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falchionpunch/pseuds/falchionpunch
Summary: "But if you're reading this, then you know how the story goes, don't you? So now comes the choice: hold the crystal close that we may enjoy these moments together. Or put it away and pretend I was never a part of it. That I was never really here."#drkweek2020 day 7
Relationships: Esteem/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Kudos: 13





	Legacy

You have a hold over them, as you both know: One hand over theirs, gently guiding their actions, as a teacher guides their student. The other 'round their throat, as both a threat and…a promise. This was their answer, the compromise you two had made (if there even were two of you). They should fear you, but they do not. Then again, that's just how they’ve always been. No matter how daunting the task, no matter how much it hurts them, they've always taken everything in stride, concerns for their personal safety be damned. Fear was an emotion to be pushed into the deepest parts of their soul to be ignored, not acknowledged. (You acknowledged it, it fed you.) Few had granted them the courtesy of caring about their feelings, so why should they care either? And so they gave up on washing the blood from their hands, stopped counting the corpses they had created, stopped caring how heavily the burden weighed on their soul.

In time, they had learned to accept the base and ugly parts of themself, and you were the most hideous of all. It was ridiculous, the ease with which they accepted you, but that ridiculousness was why you loved them. Their acceptance tightened your grip on them, and if you wanted, you could squeeze the life out of them until you were all that remained (you did want that, once), but instead you do everything in your power to hold them together. If you didn't, who would? Gods know their own sense of self-preservation was severely lacking. They had worlds on their shoulders, and any lesser person (anyone who didn't have you) would crack under the weight. Even Myste, your most precious fool that you both love so dearly, Myste, the misguided child who loves you both back just as strongly, could only offer himself as a shield. But shields can break, you know this. They know this. Myste knows this too. Myste understands better than anyone how much self-sacrifice hurts the people you protect.

The Warrior should understand this as well, but it is a lesson they stubbornly refuse to learn, save for when others try to put their lives on the line for them. You whisper it in their ear, you shout it in their ear, you beg them to understand that they have loved ones who are terrified of facing the same loss that has been inflicted on them by their well intentioned but dearly departed friends, but they ignore you. They've always been good at drowning you out when you tell them things they don't want to hear. You don't need to tell them that you are one of the people who fears that loss, both because they will not listen, and because they already know. And so you hold them closer, as close as you can without hurting them, so that if they will not listen to you, they will at least feel you by their side. A gentle but very firm reminder that they need only say the word and you be there for them, ready and willing to do whatever it is they ask.

However, loathe as you are to admit it, there is a realization dawning on the pair of you, that you are both politely refusing to put into words. The Warrior not learning things is nothing new. Previously, you and Myste had each taught them lessons spoken in violence, seemingly the only language they could comprehend when they would not heed your words. But what was there to do now, in this instance where both the student and the teacher were unwilling?

You _need_ each other, fiercely, desperately. But sometimes we must survive without the things we need. Fray knows this. Not you, Esteem, the Warrior of Light's darkside (and only sense of reason), but Fray Myste, the lonely orphan boy from the Brume turned protector of the weak. The man who lives on only in the memories contained within the soul crystal that initially allowed you to manifest at all. The man who had given you your initial form and name…but he was not here. He never had been. He was naught but a memory and a body to cloak yourself in. He whispered to you and helped turn your voice from a mumble to a roar. His memories, and the memories of all the other previous owners of the crystal, showed you how to teach the Warrior in the dark arts, but ultimately...ultimately he was just a means to an end for you. All that mattered was keeping them safe, and if becoming a dark knight was the best way to do so, then so be it. You guided them as well as you could until the day that Fray's memories could be reunited with Sidurgu, and the Warrior could have a real teacher. They and Sid often spoke of Fray as if you all knew the same man, but if the two of them knew it was all an illusion, then they were polite enough not to tell you.

Someday (a day far in the future, you fervently wished), crystallized memories would be all that was left of the Warrior of Light too, guiding the next poor sap that used their soul crystal to walk the path as they had. But who would be the teacher? Would it be the Warrior, or their darkside? Would you fade from memory, eclipsed by the dear friend you were bound to? No one else, save the survivors from Whitebrim, had borne witness to your existence, and they were sworn to secrecy. The ones who had threatened to talk paid the price with their lives--Sid had seen to that. But in so doing, he had unwittingly hastened the speed at which you were doomed to oblivion.

Aye, there were times you had taken the reigns, times that you had tried so desperately to steer your foolish, beloved charge away from their infuriating (yet endearing) self-sacrificing nature. But when the Warrior was two, everyone else could only see one. Scream as loud as you might, you could only ever do so with their voice.

But was that not the role you both played, your shared duty as a dark knight, to give a voice to the voiceless? Yes, perhaps that could be enough: they could speak for the weak, and if their voice ever faltered, you could speak for them. But eventually, they will finally learn how to say the one word that never leaves their lips, that always catches in their throat, the word you have to say for them again and again and again:

_No._

And yet…

The Warrior knows, and you do as well, that no matter how necessary a splint is for the healing process, and how comforting it can be as the broken bone heals, eventually it must be removed, lest the muscles near the break wither and atrophy from disuse. A brace worn for too long becomes far more harmful than it ever was helpful.

If you hold them too tight, they will just break again. Hold them too long and they will grow weaker, more dependent. Again, you wanted that once, but no longer. You must be their _reason_ , not their crutch. If they lean on you too hard, you'll both fall apart. The mere thought is unconscionable--you cannot even consider harming them. Despite this, it is so very, very hard to let go. You need them. You love them, more than anyone else possibly could, more than they will ever be able to comprehend. But let go you must.

Not yet. For now, you will keep them close, savor the time you have left together, embrace them and the joy that comes with being one. You will speak for them until they can speak fully on their own. And when that time comes, you will both be ready. You both will know, for they will tell you with their own voice, they one they found themself (well, with some help from you).

One day, you will sink beneath the surface of the soul crystal, lurking like lightning in metal on a dry winter day, poised to sting the first fool who touches you. But you want it to be _your_ fool, always, for as long as possible, until the last shaky breath leaves their tired lungs, and their memory entwines with yours there, forever.


End file.
